He Needs This
by RishiGenki
Summary: The first time Peter had called him "dad", Alfred had been seventeen. Of course, that was wrong. Peter and Alfred were brothers, not father and son. But, for some reason, with a workaholic father who was never home, Peter never seemed to understand that. Human!AU, ACES family setting, no pairings, just a dysfunctional family trying to piece everything back together.
1. Chapter 1

Alfred and Matthew had been the children of Arthur's first wife, who had died when the two were ten. A little before they turned fourteen, the Englishman had finally found a new wife and remarried. The February before they turned sixteen, Peter, their half brother, had been born.

The Christmas that they were seventeen, Arthur's second wife died. And Peter was left behind as Arthur dove into his work.

He hadn't even celebrated his second birthday yet, and Alfred felt as if the boy had lost not only his mother, but part of his father as well.

* * *

The first time Peter had called him "dad", Alfred had been seventeen.

The bubbly, barely two year old blond looked up at him as Alfred scooped up another spoonful of yogurt for the toddler with wide eyes and said it in a clear voice.

"Dad."

And Alfred looked up, the spoon falling from his hands and onto the table. Peter went to grab at the spoon, before sticking it in his mouth. The teen was at a loss as to what to say to the child.

Peter stared up at him, brows furrowing as he repeated himself.

"Dad. Mo'yogurt?"

"I—Peter, no," he said softly, reaching to retrive the spoon from Peter's mouth. "No, I'm Alfred. Dad is at work. Dad—I'm your brother, not your dad. Daddy's at work, he's busy but he's your dad. Not me."

But Peter had just blinked up at him and gurgled, before attempting to snatch the spoon again.

They had never quite stopped Peter from calling Alfred "dad" after that. Arthur was never there when he said it, but soon enough even he noticed that Peter had begun calling him "Mister Arthur."

* * *

Arthur was almost never home now.

Alfred mused on it as he ran his fingers through Peter's baby hair, the blond curls giving the child almost an angelic look. Peter whined as the other gave a small smile, humming as he picked up the boy from his bed and rocked him slowly, shushing his little squirms and cries. It was barely dawn, but the three year old had been roused from his sleep somehow. Alfred, who now slept in the room next to Peter's, in order to take care of him in these times, had immediately swept to the child's room, plucking him from whatever bad dreams plagued him.

"Shh, shh, we don't want to wake up Mattie, Peter, do we?"

More sniffles. Peter dug his head against Alfred's shoulder blade as he began to cry.

"Don't cry, don't cry. It's alright. Arthur will come home soon. He's just on a trip."

Peter sniffled and looked up at his brother, tears glistening in his eyes. "Mister—Arthur?"

"…yes," Alfred replied in a whisper, though it broke his heart to hear Peter call Arthur that way. "Yes, he'll be home soon."

* * *

Sometimes, Alfred wondered quietly as he dressed Peter for daycare, if Arthur even realized that Peter was growing without him. The fact that Peter had started calling his father "Mister Arthur" when he was two and a half was just the start of what rift had started between the two. And now, with Peter nearing his sixth birthday, Alfred nearing twenty two, the man wondered if things would ever be "normal" for the child.

Peter still called Alfred dad, despite how they were brothers and not father and son. Alfred couldn't ask Peter to stop. Something always tugged at his heart before the words left his throat.

The three brothers—Alfred, Matthew and Peter—were sitting down, having their dinner, Despite how Matthew had moved out after college, he still came for dinner most nights. When asked, he would shrug and say something along the lines of "family tradition", and Alfred didn't question it. It was nice having more then two people at the table. Arthur almost never made it home before Peter's bedtime.

Peter finished his dinner first, as always. Excited, he looked up at Alfred, eyes wide. "Dad! Can I go and play now? I'm all done?"

With a small smile, Alfred nodded. "Go ahead, Peter," he said softly. "I'll get you ready for bed soon enough, alright?"

"Okay! Thank you, Dad!"

And with that, the boy flitted away and Alfred went back to being consumed by his thoughts. As if he could read his twin's mind, Matthew spoke up.

"Are you sure that it's okay? For Peter to call you like that? How long has it been since he started? I can hardly remember."

Alfred continued to prod at the food with his fork, silent, unable to answer Matthew's questions. He honestly had never had a big appetite, so he usually saved his leftovers for breakfast and lunch. Matthew bit on his lip and sighed, looking down at his own empty plate.

"You know, his teachers are going to question it if he keeps calling you that. Dad's the one that goes to the meetings, right? What if they think you and dad—"

"No. He's at work when those go on, and I have a flexible enough schedule where I can go to them in his place. I drop off and pick up Peter from daycare every day."

Matthew fell back into silence, before standing up and grabbing both of their plates. "Well fine," he said smoothly. "But I still don't see why he's been calling you 'dad' all this time. I mean, he calls me "Mattie" still, and I was taking care of him just as much as you were back when he started this."

Alfred could do nothing but give a shrug as his plate was collected. "I don't see a problem with it," he countered. "He needs a father figure in his life. And I'm old enough to technically do it."

"That doesn't make it okay."

Alfred bit on his lip, before shaking his head and looking up to his brother, blue eyes slightly moist.

"He needs me to be that for him.."

* * *

_[ A/N a new story, which is simply a bunch of connecting drabbles. The second chapter will be posted within the week, depending on whenever the first chapter gets a warm welcome or not._

_It's nice to be writing again. ]_


	2. Chapter 2

It was a week before Peter's sixth birthday when Arthur finally notices how wrong the way Peter talks to him is. Always formal, always addressing him as if he's a warden instead of a parent. The man had hardly been noticing it before, that the bubbly child had become so distant. And it's at that moment that Arthur realizes that something has gone horribly, horribly wrong in his youngest son's life.

So he set to make things right.

"Pete, for the last time, I told you, my name is _daddy._ Not Arthur. Not Mister Arthur. _Daddy_."

"I—Mister Arthur?" Peter asked, staring up at the Englishman.

Arthur let out a grunt of frustration as he grabbed the other's arms, staring at him before lowering himself to Peter's eye level—the child was so small even as Arthur knelt down. Peter was so small. Was he eating right? Arthur had trusted Alfred and Matthew to feed him nutritious things, and there was always healthy food in the fridge…were six year olds supposed to be this small?

When did Arthur go wrong?

Grabbing at Peter's shoulders, Arthur rubbed a (hopefully) soothing thumb against Peter's arm, brows crinkled into something worrying. His thumb went clockwise against the skin, then counterclockwise, setting a pattern. Peter had always loved patterns when he was a baby.

"No, Peter," he began again, voice softer, trying to coax the boy. "I'm daddy. Not Mister Arthur. Don't call me that, I—when did you start doing this? Peter, talk to me, sweetie. Tell me what happened, when did you stop calling me dad?"

_Did he ever call me 'dad'?_

Arthur can't remember and he's not quite sure how to feel about that. So instead, he presses again, and now Peter's eyes are wide and scared and—no, no, this isn't what Arthur wants.

Peter stutters and shifts slightly, looking away before looking back up.

"I want dad."

And Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief. "Oh, oh, son—don't worry, I'm right here. We can get through this, okay? Come here, give Daddy a hug—"

Instead of coming like Arthur wants, Peter shakes his head, backing up. There are tears in his eyes.

"I want dad. Bring me Dad, I—please, Mister Arthur, I want dad."

"…what? I, Peter—"

"I want dad. Bring me dad. I—I want him, please Mister Arthur, I want dad—"

Something sinks to the bottom of Arthur's stomach. He fights the urge to cry as he crumples, hands falling from Peter's shoulders. The child quickly darts away as Arthur brings his hands to his face and sobs.

_Where did I go wrong?_

* * *

Arthur couldn't make it to Peter's sixth birthday party.

The day that year was a Saturday that Arthur had to work late for again. Despite how Alfred and Matthew suggested that they could move the party until Sunday, Arthur insisted that Peter have a birthday celebration the day he turned six, and to not worry about whenever Arthur could attend or not. It was Peter's first real birthday party with classmates from school—he didn't want to ruin it.

At least, that's what he said. Matthew and Alfred still insisted that he come, but the man made no promises as he slipped out the door to get to work.

Of course, the real reason might have something to do with the fact that Peter shied away every time Arthur tried to approach him. The Englishman had been making some effort to talk to him more—such as coming home earlier, offering to read Peter bedtime stories—but the boy was so insistant on staying away from Arthur, that he had given up and dove back into his work.

Peter still wouldn't call Arthur "Daddy", and insisted on keeping formal even when Arthur did manage to get Peter to speak to him for more then eight seconds.

And perhaps that was the final blow.

* * *

Arthur didn't come home on Peter's birthday. Even though Alfred and Matthew fought for Arthur to come, he didn't show up. Peter hardly noticed—because Arthur had been so detached from his life anyway, this was nothing new—but Matthew and Alfred's hearts hung low as the boy happily ripped open his new presents.

Matthew tucked Peter in for bed that night, because the boy asked for it. Matthew smiled slightly as the boy snuggled against his tattered rabbit in his bunk bed, on the lower bunk per Matthew's request. He knew that Peter had had this bunk bed from when he and Alfred were children—it was passed down, like most of the things in Peter's room—but Matthew was always afraid that Peter would roll off the top bunk and onto the floor like Alfred had so many a time. So when Matthew visited, Peter slept on the bottom bunk.

Tucking the covers up, Matthew stared down at his baby brother, eyebrows crinkling in worry. But still, he had a smile on his face as he leaned down, pressing his lips up against Peter's fringe.

"You want a story for tonight, big guy?" he asked, before sitting back up and pushing Peter's hair out of his face. The boy made a happy noise before nodding, a yawn slipping past him as he rubbed at his eyes.

"Yes please, Mattie," Peter replied, smiling sleepily as he curled into the pillows, still staring up wide at his brother. "Can we have the same story? The one about the pirates, the one that you made up. I wanna hear that one."

Matthew couldn't help but give a chuckle as he rubbed Peter's back over the blanket. Nodding his head, he couldn't help himself. "Alright, alright, once upon a time, there was a fearsome pirate. You remember his name, big guy?"

"Yeah!" the child cheered, nodding his head as he looked up at the other. "His name was Captain Kirkland! And he had two sons, who were also captains of their own pirate ships!"

"That's right, and he also had a littlest son. And his little son was the littlest sailor who helped out with his brothers and his daddy. But one day, a sneaky ex-pirate came onto Captain Kirkland's ship—"

"And then, and then—!" Peter cheered, wriggling around. Matthew grinned as well, before crawling on the bed and holding the child in place, nuzzling the crown of Peter's hair with his chin.

"And then," Matthew added, "The littlest sailor found out about this mutiny. But instead of letting this sneaky ex pirate off the ship, he called everyone awake and saved his daddy. The end."

Peter laughed, nuzzling against his brother as he started to doze off. "Uh—uh huh. And—mmh. Yeah, that's good. Yeah. I like that story best."

"Do you now," Matthew hummed, kissing Peter's forehead. "Now, how about I stay here until you fall asleep?"

"…yeah. That's good. Good night, Mattie. And say good night to Dad and Mister Arthur for me too, okay…?"

"…"

"…promise?"

"…yeah, big guy. I promise. Good night."

* * *

**[ A/N here's chapter two! Wow, I didn't expect such a great response to the first one! Honestly I wasn't sure about posting this on FF, because I'm mostly writing these as drabbles, but I'm glad you guys like them so much! Concrit is always nice and appreciated. ]**


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur came home late that night, so late that Alfred has almost given up on waiting. Matthew and Peter were curled up in the bunk bed, sleeping soundly—though Matthew did look a bit uncomfortable, it was to be expected. Alfred had smiled as he flicked the lights to the hallway off, feeling more and more like a father.

He wasn't quite sure how to think of that. When he was in high school, he had been quite a flirt and, dare he say, obnoxious. However, once Peter's mother had died, Alfred had slowly started to shed that typical jock skin into something more mature. He couldn't be out drinking with his friends when he had a toddler clinging to his pant leg and night, begging for him not to leave, after all.

However, Alfred was jolted from those thoughts at the banging on the door. It only took a few minutes of mumbled cursings and rattling on the doorknob for it to spring free. Alfred watched from the hallway as Arthur stumbled in the house, obviously red in the face and choking on whatever he was saying, too sloshed to actually be understood.

Arthur was home. But it was obvious where he had been.

Alfred immediately ran to meet his father, grabbing at his arm. "Dad! I—what are you doing?! You went out drinking—"

"You shush, Alfred," Arthur swallowed, wobbling slightly as he tried to squirm away. "Wha's wrong with me saying_happy birthday_ to my youngest, ah? Except, oh no, I'm not his dad_dy_—"

The last syllable was enforced as Arthur tried to swing forward. Alfred pushed him back, scowling slightly as he tried to enforce Arthur to stay away from Peter's room. He knew the child was a sound sleeper usually, but give him a nightmare and he's up and about for God knows how long. Arthur squirmed and struggled, but Alfred held him back.

"Wha's wrong, lad? Y'don't think I deserve him, huh? Y'don't—think I'm a good—father, ah? Wha's wrong with the way I raised you and Matthew?!"

"Nothing, Dad!" Alfred replied in a hiss, trying to tighten his fingers around Arthur's shoulders, leading him to the living room. "But you can't see him like this! You're drunk!"

"Took you long enough to figure it out, ah?" Arthur cackled, flopping on the couch, one leg strewn across the fabric as the other dragged on the floor. "You must be a fucking genius, you are—"

"Father," Alfred pressed, reaching over to brush away Arthur's hair from his face and sitting at his side, gently moving the Englishman's head into his lap. "What's wrong with you…?"

That question was met with silence. Alfred was about to move, but Arthur took a deep breath, tears sprinkling down his face, one by one. He made no noise, but his face was flushed and eyes bloodshot. The younger blond hesitated.

"Wrong with me," Arthur said softly. "What's wrong with_me,_ know, I was wondering that when I was…walking home, I—what's _wrong_ with me?!" his voice cracked as it got shrill, and he threw his hands above his face. Alfred flinched slightly, but he bit as his lip as Arthur continued to yell.

"What's wrong with me?! Why didn't I notice it earlier?! Why didn't I realize that Peter was—why didn't I realize how badly I messed up?! What did I _do,_ Alfred?! What did I do to make him so distant?!"

Alfred winced slightly, raking his hand through Arthur's hair as he cried.

"_Why,_ dammit, why—why did this—why—"

* * *

_In a room, little Peter bends, tumbles, uses his arms like giant machines, knocking them all down._

_It's dark. Everything's dark. Nothing is as it should be, but Peter pays no mind. He doesn't care that everything is dark, because he has his soldiers._

_Someone smiles at him, ruffles his hair. Peter can't see their face._

_Something falls. Something cries out and twists, Peter's arm twists until there is a sickening crack._

_Peter screams._

Arthur's eyes snap opened as he pulled himself up straight, nearly falling off the couch in the process. Alfred is asleep next to him, curled up against the arm of the couch, and Arthur can tell from the position that his head had been in Alfred's lap. The Englishman's son blinked groggily, the weight lifted from his thigh rousing him from his blissful sleep, and, glancing at his father, Alfred shifted slightly as Arthur attempted to breathe. Reaching out, he barely touched Arthur's back, fingers curling gently, just testing the waters.

Arthur flinched slightly and looks back to Alfred, before it registers that this is one of his older sons. He relaxed, shifting back into place and taking a deep breath. Eyes staring at the ground, he tried to compose himself. Rubbing at his hair, it took him a long moment before he could look back at Alfred.

"A nightmare," Alfred said before Arthur can even begin. Arthur nodded, before wobbling to his feet.

"Need to see him, need to see...see Peter."

Alfred glanced at the digital clock perched atop the television set, brows crinkling slightly as he read what the numbers blinked. "It's nearly three AM," he said softly, glancing back at Arthur's back, which had not moved. "If you wake him now, you'll probably scare him. Matthew's with him right now, so...you don't have to worry. He'll be there in the morning..." he paused. "...you don't have work, do you?"

Arthur merely waved a hand, still not moving to meet Alfred's eyes. "No, no, tomorrow I'm free," he replied in a hushed tone. "And I'll..stop taking overtime. I want...I want to be with Peter. I want him to call me Daddy. I want to be a part of his life. It-it's been too long, I'm afraid that he won't want me in his life," he gave a short laugh, but it died within a few seconds. Arthur swung his legs slightly, curling up against the couch and hugging his knees. Alfred sat back, watching Arthur carefully.

"..you know, it's strange. I remember spoiling you and Matthew when you were children, but I can't remember if Peter's started primary school or not," Arthur mumbled bitterly, cheek pressed against his knee. "...he has started, hasn't he?"

Alfred replied without fail. "He started last fall. You signed him up for the school. I gave you the forms."

"...did I now."

Silence fell back on the two blonds as Arthur leaned away from his knees and pressed his back against the couch. Fingers digging into the fabric, Arthur shut his eyes.

"...is he having fun? Making friends? He's not getting...bullied, is he? I remember when you and Alfred were in primary, and Matthew got bullied an awful lot when you were children...before-"

"Before I socked the bully right in the cheek," Alfred finished for Arthur, nodding his head. "I remember that well. The kid had a broken nose and you got chewed out by his older brother. I remember it because he had white hair, right?"

The younger blond paused and chewed on his lip for a moment, before closing his eyes as well, responding as best he can despite the time. "He talks about school often. He's made many new friends. There's Lilybet, Theo, Dao, Iraklis, and an older boy named Raivis who sometimes walks him home. You remember Raivis, right? The neighborhood boy. Lives down the street."

"I remember, lad. Go on."

"He's taken a liking to Peter. Babysits when I can't manage to get off work in time. Peter's made many friends in his school, and his teachers adore him. Say that they can't get enough of how polite he is."

It takes a long moment for Arthur to process all of that and finally open his mouth to speak. "...that...that's good," he finally said, eyes now focusing on the table in front of them. "I'm glad he's growing so well."

* * *

**[A/N: originally, this chapter was going to be lumped with the last one, but I found that it grew to be far too long and decided to cut it into another one. I'm actually having a good track record with this fic, which is great. Hope you enjoyed. ]**


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter four_

* * *

Peter doesn't quite like waking up in the mornings, especially when he's alone. Mattie had always said he had his dad's way of sleeping-early to bed and late to rise-but Peter has never quite understood that. Alfred, his dad, hardly ever slept. He was too busy working jobs, typing on his computer and generally taking care of the house.

Mister Arthur, however, was more like Peter in that respect. He was always either working or sleeping; even if he was home for the day he usually slept hours and hours on end. Perhaps it was because he worked so hard, or whatever he did. Peter wasn't quite sure what Mister Kirkland worked for or why he was gone at all hours of the day; it was just something that had always been a part of his life. The boy mused on that as he tossed and turned, rolling over until his pajama-clad back pressed against the cold wall.

It was only when his back made contact that Peter opened his eyes. He could have sworn that he fell asleep with Mattie curled up next to him...had he gone home? That was odd-Mattie always made sure to wake Peter from sleeping if he left. Peter hated it when his older brother didn't do that; it always made him feel lonely. So Mattie, being the good brother that he was, always made sure to at least rustle him awake before kissing him goodbye.

The child rolled out of bed and rubbed at his eyes, before feeling around for his bunny-slippers that Santa had gotten him for Christmas the past year-Santa almost always left a pair of slippers, along with other toys piled high against the Christmas tree.

Peter wouldn't tell, however, that he knew that Santa was actually Mister Tino. He had found it out the year he was four, when he had stayed up and pretended that he was sleeping on the couch. Mister Tino, who was the funny and kind neighbor that lived across the street, had come through the front door with an entire bag of toys all for him. Mister Tino's husband, Berwald, had been carrying it, and they both made sure to stay completely quite as to not wake up what they thought was the sleeping boy on that Christmas Eve.

Peter can almost remember his dad helping out and thanking them, but he had been so tired at that point that he had fallen asleep sometime during it.

There hadn't been a present from Mister Arthur. Peter remembered that quite clearly because he had been excited that year, and had drawn out a large picture for the man in hopes that he would lighten up and smile back. But instead of a smile, Arthur hadn't even been there. Peter waited for hours and hours for the British man to come home, before Alfred had picked him up and put him to bed, promising that Arthur would get the present when he got home.

The picture had been taped haphazardly onto the fridge for three months until Peter tore it down.

* * *

The child shuffled into the kitchen, still half asleep, because of the smell of sausage and waffles. He scooted up to the table, kicking his legs slightly as he nuzzled his face into his arms, before yawning.

"Ah! Pete, you're finally awake! Good morning, lad."

Peter's eyes snapped open at the voice, before sitting up rather violently and turning around to the person at the stove in question. It was none other then Arthur himself, smiling wide, nodding his head with glee as he set the plate full of pancakes on the table.

The boy gaped, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. Arthur gave a small smile, hesitant as Peter felt, before nodding, shifting around to shimmy back to the oven. He turned his back and continued to speak, despite Peter's pure shock.

"I asked Alfred and Matthew to leave us here for the day; I missed your birthday and I feel absolutely awful for it. What better way of spending the day then with your daddy, mmh?" Arthur turned his head to look back hopefully at Peter as the boy poked at the (very black) pancakes with a sort of disbelief in his eyes. "And please, Pete, before you say anything, don't call me 'Mister Arthur' as you always have. Please, "daddy" or even "father" will do."

Peter opened his mouth again, before closing it as Arthur continued to chatter. There was no use in trying to get a word in; Peter knew that much.

"Oh, I have such a day planned out for us! Thankfully Alfred always has...erm...headache medicine, and I've been up long enough where I can make up for your birthday that I missed," a pause, as Arthur shuffled the sausages onto a plate and placed them in front of Peter as well, before taking a seat next to the blond child. "And I missed the birthday before that, didn't I?" he murmured softly after a moment, reaching out to tousle Peter's hair. The child flinched, pushing the hand away, and Arthur withdrew. "And the birthday before that, and the one before _that_...I haven't given you a decent 'happy birthday' for almost four years now. What a track record, mmh?"

His voice was quieter. Peter bit on his lip and swung his legs as he cut up a bit of the (black) pancake, stuffing it in his mouth and chewing. It didn't taste nearly as bad as it looked, but it was still pretty bad. Hesitantly, the boy glanced around for the maple syrup, and Arthur, as if reading his mind, stood up to retrieve the special, pure Canadian maple syrup that Alfred always made sure to have on hand for when Matthew was out and about. He placed it in front of the boy and leaned forward a bit as Peter drowned his (black) pancakes in it.

"...are you upset at me, Pete?" Arthur asked softly, studying the boy who seemed intent on eating his breakfast. Peter gave a half hearted shrug, before taking another bite of pancake.

"-no sir," he finally answered after finishing half his plate. "Why would that upset me at all?"

"Pete, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't call me sir," Arthur interjected. "It's not suitable for someone your age to call their father."

"_Mister Arthur_," Peter clarified, and he was too busy concentrating on his pancakes to see Arthur flinch at that, "I know you're busy. You have work and your friends and places and stuff. You shouldn't have to worry about me."

The sound of a heart breaking falls on deaf ears, as Peter shoves another forkful of pancake drowned in syrup to his mouth. He almost doesn't hear the sniffle as Arthur brings a hand to his own mouth, trying to snuff out the tears.

"...my god, Peter, I'm so _sorry_."

Peter doesn't understand, but simply shrugs it off.

Mister Arthur has always had odd mood swings.

* * *

**[A/N: oh gosh wow the love on this story always manages to surprise me 333 ;3; precious babies, all of you are, aaaaaaaa**

**Anyway, someone was mentioning that they wanted to see Sweden and Finland in this chapter, and even though they technically don't have much significance to the plot, I decided to give them a small cameo. They might have more in the future!**

**I also want to add characters like Hong Kong, Ireland, etc...**

**Gosh there's just too much ;3; 3**

**Please stay with me for as long as you can, yeah? Thank you very kindly for all the reviews and such. ]**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

* * *

Arthur didn't honestly know where he had gone wrong.

What turns had he missed, what choices had he blundered for things to turn it into _this_? Because when Arthur had shooed Matthew and Alfred away for the day, he had at least expected Peter to get over the shock of being home alone with the Brit quickly. But it had been at least an hour and the two had hardly exchanged words since breakfast. The child simply had nothing to say, and Arthur didn't want to push Peter to a place he was uncomfortable with, despite how it gnawed at the Englishman's nerves.

Had it honestly been that long since Arthur had spent time with the child?

When was the last time he had cooked Peter breakfast?

The answer didn't come to him, and Arthur wasn't quite sure on how to feel about that.

* * *

After the almost silent meal, Arthur had suggested that they watch some television together. Peter had mutely nodded, still chewing on the remains of the pancakes that Arthur worked so hard to get right for nearly two hours before the child was roused from his sleep. Though he had initially cringed because they had turned black in the process, Peter was still eating the breakfast Arthur had cooked, and that was a good sign, wasn't it? Peter was willing to spare Arthur at least a chance, he reasoned. Why else would he have not asked for Matthew or Alfred since he awoke?

But as it turned out, the boy was huddled up against the corner of the couch, staring blankly at the screen where a nonsensical cartoon that Arthur had flicked on was playing. The Englishman furrowed his brows and bit his lip, but nothing came to him; nothing looked _right_ about Peter.

His posture was too straight. Peter's shoulders were square and parallel with the ground.

His hands were clamped on his lap, only twitching occasionally, and only just so much that it would have been hard to notice if Arthur hand't been looking.

He wasn't-

He wasn't a _child_. Not like Matthew and Alfred had been, while they were growing up. Alfred and Matthew had caused ruckus after ruckus, trouble at each turn - before Arthur could even blink, they were at another spat, hiding his cooking and feeding it to the dog Matthew had gotten for their fourth birthday, or even how Alfred stole kisses from all the girls in daycare.

But Peter, Peter was different. He didn't look like a child should. The silence was deafening.

Hadn't Alfred said that Peter was lively? So what was Arthur doing wrong?

Shifting forward on the couch, Arthur kept his eyes trained on Peter, looking for any sort of reaction - even a bad one. As if on cue, the boy immediately tensed up, just as Arthur moved a bit closer, pressing subtly against the arm of the couch just a little more.

That was all the answer that Arthur needed. The way Peter reacted, even subconsciously, was something that sobered Arthur even more.

* * *

He tried conversation. He really, honestly did. Arthur didn't know how to talk to Peter, but that didn't mean he wouldn't at least attempt to. It was the day after the lad's sixth birthday, after all! Surely he must have things to talk about?

"So - Pete?" Arthur started, cursing inwardly at how his voice cracked ever so slightly. Biting on his lip, he swore that he wouldn't let the betrayal in his voice heard again.

At that, Peter stole a glance to Arthur, only for a split second before returning his eyes to the screen. "Yes, sir?"

The Englishman bit his tongue back, though he really wanted to tell Peter to stop calling him by such formalities again. The child simply wouldn't listen no matter how hard Arthur tried. But he bit back that, as hard as he could, before smiling and scooting a little closer, leaning over to wrap a tight arm around Peter's shoulder.

It wasn't met with rejection, like Arthur was expecting, but it wasn't welcoming either. Arthur wasn't sure how to take that.

Instead, he continued to speak, a small smile on his face. "So - ah, tell me about school, then. I hear you have some new friends? Tell me about Theo - or maybe Lilybet. Or are you having fun with Raivis? C'mon, tell daddy about - "

At that, Peter's head whipped up, eyes wide and expression befuddled. The child stared up at Arthur for a long moment before his lips finally opened.

"Mister Kirkland, I don't - "

"_Please_, Peter," Arthur half pleaded. "Please, call me dad. Give me that, at least."

The small blond didn't respond; instead, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out, before looking back up at Arthur. "School is fine, Mister Kirkland. I play with lots of people and I don't quite ever get in any trouble. I'm a good boy for Teacher Jones and Teacher Honda just like I am at home," he said firmly, keeping his eyes away from Arthur and instead on his hands. Arthur, on impulse, took one of the hands and rubbed his thumb against it, praying that it would be soothing. If Peter's expression were to be taken into account, Arthur would have no idea whenever he was doing something good or not.

"Have you done any drawings, Pete?"

"Uh huh. I always do drawings," the boy replied, keeping his hands on his lap and his eyes on his hands, so he didn't have to make this conversation any more uncomfortable for himself. Arthur could see it, and it made him wince just a bit more, though his arm did not leave Peter's shoulder. "I always draw during circle time. Teacher Jones always puts them up, she's always so proud of me. Then she gives them to Mattie and he puts them on the fridge."

"Really?" Arthur asked, it being his turn to be befuddled. Matthew had never mentioned any of Peter's drawings, and he certainly had not seen any on the fridge. Standing up for a moment, Arthur gave the child a small wave of to stay put before heading to the fridge in question.

And, indeed, there were many drawings tacked onto the side of the refrigerator. Arthur hadn't noticed it - he had been too busy trying to make the pancakes and eggs perfect to really notice anything about his environment.

Guilt swelled in his gut as Arthur reached out to carefully take down one of the drawings, his heart falling as he looked at the picture.

In it, there were two blonds next to each other, a smaller one on the middle. One was obviously Alfred, and the other most likely Matthew; Peter rested in The middle, though his smile was not present as the other two's were.

And, off in the side, there was another figure. Dressed up in a suit as if ready for work, Arthur could see the two eyebrows that were unnaturally large; the familiar green eyes…even the suitcase that Arthur tended to bring to work was there.

He wasn't smiling, either.

* * *

The man trudged back to the living room, a little more downtrodden and a lot more sobered up to his mistakes, only to find that Peter had dozed off in his absence. The boy clutched around a stuffed rabbit that had somehow made it's way out into the living room, and Arthur's breath hitched as he recognized the raggedy old thing. It was decades old, much older then Peter himself - and something that he himself had stitched up for Alfred when the tot was crying too loudly in his crib. Matthew was a quiet child, yes, but Alfred was always needing something to occupy himself.

So Arthur had set down and knitted the rabbit with care, only the best fabric covering the friend for his son - and Alfred had adored it, for many years, and had refused to part from it even after he grew too old for it.

Arthur couldn't help himself - he reached out to retrieve the animal, fingers going over the stitching that snaked around it's stomach. It was a relic, almost, and Arthur couldn't help the question that bubbled up against his mind as he took a long look down at the sleeping Peter below.

_How had Peter gotten this?_

He thought that before carefully tucking the animal against Peter's person again. Very solemly, the man knelt besides Peter and quickly scooped him up, cradling the child against his chest as he pressed a light kiss to his forehead.

The boy shifted slightly and mumbled something along the lines of "dad" as Arthur whisked the boy back into his room, carefully depositing him on the bottom bunk (why did he have a bunk bed, anyway? The top bunk was too dangerous for a child Peter's age.), quietly covering him with the sheets and then the comforter, before pressing another chaste kiss to Peter's forehead.

"Sleep well, Peter. I promise, Daddy will fix this all up, I promise..."

,

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N: my apologies for such a long wait - I've sort of had a road block with this fic, and I've honestly been too tired to do anything at all at this point. (to be completely honest, it's nearing four AM here and I haven't had a lick of rest.) I've been busy, but I haven't forgotten about this AU at all! In fact, I have another small drabble that I had written, though it isn't being published here due to length reasons.**

**Gosh, I feel like I should welcome each and every review and respond to it, but I've nearly gotten twenty five, despite how this fic is only a few weeks old. It's a sobering experience and I am very, very grateful to all of you. Here's to hopes for the next chapter! Feel free to leave suggestions as well, as to who you want to see in this fic or any plot questions you might have.**

**Thank you all and I honestly thank you from the bottom of my heart.))**


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